"This rain is killing me," Willow grumbled, tipping the brim of her soggy hat. Wilson nodded sympathetically, staring daggers at the darkened sky. The nomads had wandered for days, mapping out the island and searching for a place to settle down. They had huddled beneath a dripping birch tree to wait out the icy rain. Wilson, who was normally quite fond of rain, found his patience wearing thin as the ground beneath his feet began turning to mush.

Willow hadn't tolerated the rain from the moment it began to drizzle, and made sure that Wilson was aware of the fact.

She was seated beside him, shifting uncomfortably against the soaked bark. The tall girl had been weaving dry grasses together for about an hour, mumbling colorful threats as her hands moved.

She occasionally tossed a fistful of grass into their waning fire.

"I hope this lets up soon," Wilson lamented through chattering teeth.

Willow nodded vigorously in agreement, her hat threatening to slip from her head and tumble onto the mud. She latched onto it with a death grip, wincing as her hand skimmed the dripping brim.

"Is mine almost done?" Wilson asked, running his hands through his ruined hair. Willow responded by tossing the hat into his lap. Wilson quickly stuffed it on his head, ignoring any lingering worries about hat-hair. He sighed in relief once the water stopped dripping down his neck.

Safe from the elements, Wilson began to contemplate their game plan.

Before the two could safely explore the rest of the island, they needed to set up a base camp; a rendezvous point that could provide food, security, and a sense of normality. Unfortunately, Wilson and Willow had both been extremely picky about which locations actually met the proper criteria.

Willow absolutely refused to live anywhere near the ocean. Ponds were alright, as even someone as fiery as her needed to drink, but the ocean made her edgy and nervous. Though they had found a beautiful birch grove filled to the brim with berry bushes and wild carrots, the fact that the air was tinged with sea salt made her abandon the idea altogether. "I'd rather die," she had said. Wilson had sighed, gathered all the berries he could, and followed her away from the orchard.

The scientist, on the other hand, refused to live anywhere near pine forests. He was embarrassed about it, but couldn't deny his creeping paranoia whenever he looked upon the evergreens. All he could see was an army of hulking beasts, ripping themselves from the soil and staring hungrily down at them. Willow had thankfully noticed his tension, and said nothing as they traveled through the piney woods. Though there were rabbits galore and rocks around every bend, she had focused on getting them to the other side of the forest as quickly as possible.

Wilson wondered if she had been afraid as well.

The scientist had considered Willow's savanna, but she had quickly killed the idea.

"There's no resources left," she had groaned. "I already cut down all the trees, and the only rabbits I found were ridiculously skinny. It's such a shame, too; I've never been anywhere drier."

The rain started shortly after that conversation. Wilson wondered if there was any correlation.

"This could be bad," Willow admitted, squeezing at the now soggy grass. The fire had grown far too low, and Willow looked nervously at her wet tinder. "This isn't going to work. Do you have anything?"

Wilson dug through his dripping pockets, sighing as his hands found only soaked sticks. "Everything's drenched," he replied. Willow groaned.

"Alright, we'll have to work with what we've got. Give me the sticks, they'll dry faster than logs."

Wilson passed them over. Sighing, Willow tossed them into the fire. It hissed in complaint, releasing a cloud of steam. Her soggy grass followed suit. The fire blazed a little brighter.

"This sucks," she grumbled. She rested her chin atop her knees, glowering angrily at the sky. "Rain is so unnatural."

Wilson couldn't bite back his grin. "That's such a ridiculous thing to say," he laughed. Willow's frown deepened.

"It's true, though! Water coming from the sky is so surreal to think about. Imagine if it rained sticks, or leaves, or red berries; actual, useful things."

She kicked at a puddle that had grown steadily closer to her feet. "Something other than stupid gross sky water."

"But it's essential for life," Wilson countered. He cupped his hands together, creating a basin for rainwater to collect. "Without it, nothing would thrive; plants would wither away, thus starving herbivores, and the carnivores that feed off of them. We would have no berries, no meat, not even the tinder you love so much. You owe your life to rain." He finished his speech with a flick of the wrist, spraying raindrops on the tips of the girl's boots.

Wilson had never seen someone look so disgusted.

He couldn't help himself. The scientist erupted in a fit of laughter, biting down on his palm in an attempt to quell his snorts.

She just looked so incredibly revolted.

With a snarl, Willow snatched Wilson's hat from his head. Icy water immediately assaulted him, soaking him to the bone. The girl held the hat threateningly over the fire, a sneer plastered on her face.

"Take it back," she warned.

"I can't take back a scientific fact, Willow. Don't be silly." A chilly wind whipped past him; he shivered violently. "Let's just be reasonable adults. You can give me back the hat you so graciously made for me, not let me freeze to death, and accept that I'm right."

The corner of the hat began to darken, steam curling from the withering brim.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Wilson begged.

Willow raised an eyebrow. "It sure doesn't sound like you're taking back the awful thing you said."

Wilson threw his hands into the air. "Fine, whatever! Spit all over the most fundamental aspect of biology, I don't care! May I please have the hat back? My hair is getting ruined."

Willow snorted, tossing the woven straw into his hands. Wilson clutched it like a lifeline.

"Thank you."

Willow crossed her arms. "It's too wet to burn properly anyway."

Their conversation died out and, after a particularly strong gale of wind, so did their tiny flame. Willow immediately panicked, throwing their remaining tufts of grass into the pit. Try as she did, they failed to light; her shaky hands could barely hold her lighter steady, let alone flick the switch to ignite their soaked fuel. Just as she was about to give up, a tiny flame erupted from the top of her favorite device.

The lighter immediately slipped from her grasp.

Willow shrieked in anger.

"This isn't fair! I used to be a goddamn girl scout, I should be good at this! Why can't I even light a godforsaken fire?"

Wilson awkwardly patted at her shoulder. She turned to face him, the very definition of misery painted upon her face. She shuddered violently.

"This sucks," she sniffed angrily, her bottom lip jutting out in a juvenile pout.

"I know, but we must work with the cards we've been dealt; it's raining, and extremely cold, and that would make anyone a bit testy."

He tucked his legs closer to his chest in an attempt to warm them.

"You said you used to be a girl scout, correct?" She nodded slowly. "Then surely you must have other skills besides lighting fires and weaving grasses. I personally don't know much about scouts, but from what I've heard they seem to teach a myriad of skills that one could find applicable in a situation such as ours, minus the hellish creatures of course; I certainly doubt the scouts prepared you for a tree guardian, or those voracious hound-beasts, or-"

Wilson realized that Willow had scooted closer to him as he rambled. She was now pressed hip-to-hip with him. She carefully avoided his gaze.

"Don't make it awkward," she grumbled. "And don't flatter yourself; you're right. We did learn other skills. Rule one of survival is find shelter, but as you can see," she said, gesturing at their birch tree, "ours kind of sucks. A shelter needs to be able to do two things; block the elements and provide warmth. We've got hats for elements."

Wilson was following her train of thought. "And a human body provides warmth. Why didn't I think of that? It's brilliant and simple, we could have solved our problems ages ago. To be fair, you're a little thin to adequately replace a fire but-"

She shot him a deadly glare. Wilson immediately shut up.

"No offense."

Her mouth remained set in a thin line. Wilson cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Let's make the most of this storm. How about we get to know each other? We've been travelling together for days, and all I know about you is that you like fire, are decent with handcrafts, and used to be a girl scout." He wanted to add 'brave and just a tad headstrong,' but really didn't feel like starting another argument. He was really appreciating the warmth she provided, and didn't feel like having it ripped away just yet.

"Alright," Willow said. "There's not much else to do, anyway."

They both sat in silence, waiting for the other to speak.

Willow broke the awkward haze.

"Uh...this feels really forced." Wilson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Apologies; I haven't exactly, ahem, socialized very much in the past few years. I'm a little out of practice."

Willow chuckled into her hand. "That's a little sad."

"Oh? And were you miss popular back where you're from?"

Her grin slipped from her face. She looked down at the mud, hands wrapped around her legs.

"Not exactly. People don't really want to be friend with the resident pyromaniac."

Wilson regretted bringing up the topic altogether.

"Oh. Well, um, surely you must have had friends back in your scout days? Why don't you tell me about that?"

She tipped her head back in thought. Wilson noticed that stray strands of hair were sticking to her cheeks.

"Well, I joined when I was around ten years old. My dad was the one who suggested it; mom never really approved. She had always wanted a daughter she could doll up and parade around town. Imagine her disappointment when she got me instead."

Wilson tried to imagine Willow in a floral print dress. The only image he could conjure was one wreathed in flames.

"He signed me up in secret, and when she found out, it was chaos." Willow chuckled softly at the memory.

"I was a bit nervous about joining; I didn't know any of the other girls who were there and, believe it or not, I used to be really shy. Anyway, so I go to our first meeting, and my scout leader was just the most saccharine thing. She kind of irritated me, and after a few classes of her sugary lessons, I was about ready to quit."

Her eyes became unfocused as a dreamy smile crept onto her face. "But then they told us about a camping trip, and I was so excited that I actually thought I was going to explode. I had gone camping before with my dad, and I loved it so much. I knew I'd make a ton of friends once I showed off my skills in the wilderness."

She sighed dreamily, staring off into the rainstorm. A sweet smile had worked it's way upon her face.

Wilson had never seen her look so genuinely happy.

"Well? Did you succeed in your endeavor?"

She chuckled warmly. "In a sense. Everyone was really impressed at first; I answered all the questions, and people were scrambling to group up with me. It was everything I ever dreamed."

She stopped, inspected her hands. "But then they started getting irritated. I know now that they were jealous, but at the time I thought that they knew there was something wrong with me."

"When it came time to learn about the basics of campfires, I knew it would be my last shot to impress them. I had never built an honest-to-goodness bonfire before; my fires had always been made through matches. My dad took care of the fire whenever we went camping. But when it came time to test, it all just...came naturally to me."

Her smile returned. "My success just made them angrier. I tried bragging, thought maybe they hadn't seen what I'd done. I talk about that fire for hours. By the end of the trip, all of my chances were shot. My freaky enthusiasm for the fire didn't help much."

"In the end, though, I was happy. I had no friends, sure, but I had skills. I could be independent if I chose to, which is more than most women can say. Hell, if I wanted to, I could run away and not stop. I always kept essentials in a little backpack so that, if the time ever came, I could just leave, keep walking until I ended up at Lake Erie-"

"Wait, Lake Erie? Isn't that in the States?"

Willow paled. Wilson, though he noticed her change in pallor, carried on.

"No wonder your accent sounds a bit odd. I didn't want to point it out in case you had some sort of speech impediment. How did you end up in Britain?"

The thudding rain began to lighten. Blue spots of sky dotted the clouds, which had thinned and lightened as Willow told her tale. The girl hopped up abruptly, stretched her soggy arms.

"That's a tale for another day," she said. Her tone implied a finality that left Wilson a bit confused. However, he followed her lead. They resumed wandering through the birch woods.

As they wandered the ground underfoot became drier. Soon the squelching mud beneath Wilson's shoes became less yielding, and the pair progressed faster. However, their unfortunate hold up earlier that afternoon cost them many hours of daylight, which meant nightfall was just around the corner.

"I think we need to set up a camp again," Wilson decided. Willow immediately began to set up the evening's fire. She was as meticulous as ever, placing each log carefully into a pyramid. When completed, she stood and dusted her hands off, surveying her handiwork.

"There, that should keep you going for the night." She immediately began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Wilson called after her.

"I'm not done exploring," she called back.

"Willow that's nonsense, it's nearly sundown! The grue will tear you to bits without a fire."

She turned and gestured at her lighter. "Uh, duh? I'll be fine. Be back in a bit."

Wilson got up to chase her down, then sighed. He didn't feel like dealing with a difficult woman. His feet hurt from traveling, and the ground was looking softer by the minute.


Wilson was awoken by the acrid tang of smoke.

"Help! Help! Everything's on fire!" someone cried beside him. As Wilson's head cleared, he realized that it belonged to Willow. He leaped up, expecting to find a singed forest and a frantic friend.

However, he saw only a woman laughing hysterically by his side, a burning stick clutched in her hands.

"Oh god, you should have seen the look on your face!" she squeaked. Wilson frowned deeply.

"That was far from funny, Willow. I thought the camp was on fire."

"Lighten up, I tried literally every other way to wake you up; you wouldn't budge." Wilson's frown refused to be lifted.

She sighed, the puff of air lifting her bangs from her forehead. "If you're expecting an apology then forget it- that was comedy gold right there. Anyway, I woke you up because I found something exciting." She reached for his hand and tugged abruptly, pulling him away from the safety of the campfire. She held her torch aloft, guiding Wilson through the darkness.

The sun was just creeping over the horizon when Willow abruptly stopped. Wilson nearly stumbled into her.

"Look," she breathed beside him. He forced his eyes to open a little wider.

He gasped.

They were standing on the crest of a hill, which overlooked a small valley. The valley, well guarded by steep hills and offering many paths for evacuation, was dotted with berry bushes and birch trees. A tiny cobblestone path wound down to a few small ponds. Wilson heard the distant cry of tallbirds. The grass dried up towards the east, signifying a savanna and, hopefully, an abundance of rabbits.

It was nearly perfect.

"We can chop down those pine trees," Willow said quietly. She squeezed Wilson's hand.

"Or I can burn 'em," she rectified. Wilson could hear the glee in her voice.

He smiled.

They had found a home.


A/N: I'm not really fond of this chapter but I felt like it was necessary. Reviews are welcome!